


Special Delivery

by RabbitRunnah



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Not really smut but smut adjacent?, Single Parent Eric Bittle, based on a Shitty Check Please AU, mailman Jack Zimmermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24651943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitRunnah/pseuds/RabbitRunnah
Summary: Mailman Jack Zimmermann is used to attention from the little kids on his postal route. Being asked to attend a Mailman Jack-themed birthday party, well, that's a first.Inspired by thisShitty Check, Please AU prompt: "jack is bitty’s mailman and bitty’s 6 yr old is in love with jack and always wants to greet him when he delivers the mail. recently divorced bitty has to pry his daughter away most days, even tho he himself feels the same."
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 91
Kudos: 647





	Special Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this submission on the [Shitty Check Please AUs](https://shitty-check-please-aus.tumblr.com) Tumblr and knew I had to write something. If Jack hadn't gone on to play professional hockey, what would he be? I have no idea, but I do have a friend who majored in history and went on to become a mailman so this prompt made a weird kind of sense to me. This is pure, self-indulgent fluff written mostly so I could cram in a few terrible puns toward the end.

“Mr. Jack! Mr. Jack!”

 _“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”_ This is the unofficial motto of the United States Postal Service but it might just as easily be applied to Evie Bittle, Jack thinks as he pulls up to the mailbox at the end of the Bittles’ driveway. _“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays Evie Bittle from greeting Jack Zimmermann each day he drops off her family’s mail.”_

It’s been sprinkling off and on all day, which must explain the bright yellow rain coat and Thomas the Tank Engine rain boots Evie’s wearing. Her father, standing next to her, holds a rainbow-striped umbrella over both of their heads.

“Mr. Jack, I got rain boots!” Evie greets Jack as he slows to a stop. She kicks one foot out and tilts it back and forth, pointing and flexing so Jack can admire the boot from every angle.

“Those are very nice,” Jack says. He’s rewarded with brilliant smiles from father and daughter.

“They don’t fit Alex anymore. He said I can have them.”

“That was very nice of Alex,” Jack says. “He sounds like a good friend.”

Evie nods, and her father sends Jack a grateful smile. “Do you have mail today?” she asks.

“I have —” Jack hands over a small stack — “a couple of letters, some ads, and a magazine.”

A letter, in Evie-speak, is anything that comes in an envelope. It might be a bill, or an NPR request for donations, or a card from her grandparents. For Evie, it’s less about what might be in the envelope and more about getting to open it for her father.

“Oooh,” Evie gasps as she clutches the letters to her chest. The grocery circulars and magazine have already been thrust at her father. “Thank you!”

Jack chuckles. “You’re welcome, Evie. See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow!” Evie waves as Jack drove away, and doesn’t stop until he’s out of sight.

*

Jack Zimmermann isn’t a detective, but he could be.

He knows a lot about the customers on his route, even the ones he’s never spoken to. It’s a skill acquired after years on the job. Strict federal regulations warn against tampering with mail, but he’s unconsciously learned to read between the lines. He knows the Jones family got a puppy two years ago because it barks when he drops packages off on the front porch. The Lee family has a child who will soon be going off to college, if the flyers and brochures “Taylor” has been getting from colleges and universities from around the country for the past three months are any indication.

And the Bittles? Well, Jack knows way more about the Bittles than is warranted, given he’s never had a proper conversation with the man who owns the home.

When Eric Bittle moved into the house five years ago, he had a partner named Rob. Evie came along a year or so later; Jack knows this because of the influx of cards and gifts addressed to “Miss Evelyn Bittle.” Also, there was the big “It’s a Girl!” sign stuck in the front lawn for the better part of two weeks.

Rob doesn’t live there anymore, Jack is pretty sure, because there was a small U-Haul truck parked in the driveway for a few days a year or so ago, and then came the mail forwarding order, for Rob only.

Jack has observed a few other changes since Rob moved out. Bittle seems to work from home now, or at least has a schedule that allows him to be home in the middle of the day when Jack delivers his mail. Jack knows this because Bittle and Evie have been waiting at the end of the driveway almost every day for the better part of a year.

It’s not that unusual, really. Lots of kids watch and wait for Jack. A couple summers ago, two teenagers who lived in a large red brick house in one of the wealthier neighborhoods on his route used to bolt out the front door and race each other over the front lawn and down the long driveway, using whatever means necessary to be the first to the mailbox. There was blood once, which reminded Jack of his hockey days.

He’s been at this job for almost two decades, and not a week goes by without a child waving to him from a front window or saying hello from where they’re playing in the front yard. But Evie Bittle is different, and Jack can’t exactly say why. He just knows that lately, he looks forward to seeing Evie, waiting by the mailbox with her father, as much as she looks forward to seeing him.

*

Evie Bittle’s father is a baker. Jack knows _this_ because one day last summer he dropped off a large package with a return address he recognized as a New York publisher. “That’s Daddy’s book,” Evie proudly told Jack as her father accepted the box that was too large for her to hold. At that, Bittle had smiled and admitted that yeah, his first cookbook was about to be published and his author copies were in the box.

Sometimes, when Jack hands her the day’s mail, Evie hands him some little treat — a chocolate chip cookie, a mini cupcake, once a large slice of apple pie. “My daddy made it,” she proudly tells him.

“Evie helped,” Bittle usually says.

The Bittles aren’t the only family that gives him little gifts. He has customers who give him tamales at Christmas and paczki on Fat Tuesday. A cold bottle of water or can of soda during the hottest days of summer is always a welcome relief, since Jack’s truck isn’t equipped with air conditioning. The Bittles aren’t unusual in their generosity. But he does look forward to their treats more than any of the others.

*

It’s a Tuesday in March when Eric Bittle appears at the mailbox alone. Jack slows to a stop, wondering to himself where Evie is. He raises an eyebrow in question and is answered by a half smile, just a quirk of the lips really, from her father.

“Ev has a bit of a cold today,” he explains, putting Jack at ease.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, it’s good … well, not _good_ …” Eric stumbles over his own words, forces out a little laugh before continuing. “She stopped napping a few months ago and it’s all I can do to get her to rest so I can get some work done.”

“Are you working on a new book?” Jack asks. When Eric’s face registers surprise he quickly adds, “That package I delivered a few months ago, I remember you said it was your new book.”

“Oh, right! It’s just a little thing. I have a baking vlog and do a cooking segment on the local news, that’s my day job. The book was just … a happy accident. One of my vlogs went viral and caught the eye of some editors, and one of them reached out about putting something together.” He shrugs. “The rest is history.”

Jack has a feeling the guy is downplaying his accomplishments. He’s not sure what “vlog” or “viral” is, but a book deal with a major publisher is no “little” thing. But he simply smiles and reaches for the Bittles’ mail.

“I’m actually glad things worked out this way today,” Eric says as Jack makes the handoff, “because there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Uh, sure,” Jack says, noting the way Eric avoids meeting his eyes. “Are you still having problems with missing mail? I know that there were some issues when that forward first went through last year but — ”

“Oh, no, it’s not that!” Eric quickly reassures him. “It’s not a complaint. It’s about Evie. You know — or, well, you probably don’t know, I don’t know why you would,” Eric mumbles, more to himself, “— her birthday is coming up next month and I’ve tried to talk her out of it but you know she’s just so taken with you and —”

“Eric.” Jack puts a steadying hand on Eric’s arm before he can stop himself. “Start over?”

Bittle nods. “I asked Evie what kind of birthday party she wants, and she kept repeating ‘Mailman Jack.’ It took me a little while to figure it out but … I guess she wants you to be part of her party?”

“Like … as a guest?” Jack knows some of his customers think of him as a friend, in the sense that they see him every day, but he’s never been invited to a child’s birthday party. This is a first.

“More like …” Eric shifts awkwardly. “More like the theme?” he says, voice pitching higher.

“The theme?” Jack repeats dumbly.

“You know, some kids want Star Wars or unicorn parties?” Eric asks.

Jack nods.

“Evie wants a, um, Mailman Jack-themed party.”

Oh. “That’s …”

“It’s weird, right? I’m so sorry, Jack, of course I explained to her that you can’t just _come_ to her party, but she went to her friend’s Carlos’ Avengers birthday party last month and Captain America was there so of course she thinks she can choose any celebrity to come to her birthday party.”

“She thinks I’m a celebrity?” Jack asks, amused. His parents, actual celebrities, are going to love this.

“You are very high on her list of favorite people,” Eric confirms. “She gets very upset when it’s your day off and Angela delivers our mail.”

“She’s a nice lady,” Jack says, because he’s still not sure how to respond to the rest of it.

“The nicest!” Eric agrees. “So anyway, I totally understand if you don’t want to be part of Evie’s party, but I had to ask, you know, because she’s my kid and I’d do anything to make her happy and—”

“I’ll do it,” Jack says.

“—and the past year has been kind of rough on both of us — wait,” Eric interrupts himself, “did you say you’ll do it?”

“I’ll do it,” Jack repeats.

Eric beams. “Well, great. That’s just so great. I’ll start making plans and of course I’ll get the details to you but the plan is to have it on her actual birthday, which is April 3. Unless of course you have to work, we can work around your schedule.”

“If it’s a Saturday, it’s my day off,” Jack reminds him.

“Right. Well, I won’t keep you from your deliveries any longer. Thank you, Jack! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As Eric turns to go inside and Jack pulls up to the next house, Jack can’t help but wonder what he’s just gotten himself into.

*

A few things happen in the weeks leading up to Evie Bittle’s birthday party.

First, Jack gets Eric Bittle’s phone number. Not in the sense that he _gets_ it; whatever impulse he might have to ask for the man’s phone number if they had met under less professional circumstances — in a bar, at a hockey game, introduced by friends — is squelched by the ever-present voice in Jack’s head that he’s a professional. And no matter how much Jack might _want_ to get to know Eric Bittle outside of the 30 seconds he sees him each afternoon (he can admit that he _might_ want to get to know Eric Bittle better), that’s not the reason he’s now in possession of the man’s phone number.

Whatever Jack might have done with that phone number, had it been acquired under any of those other circumstances, remains a hypothetical. Outside of Jack’s daily stops at the Bittle mailbox, their communication consists of Eric Bittle texting infrequent updates about the status of the party. That’s all.

“What do you think?” Bittle asks, handing Jack a cookie decorated to look like an envelope through his truck’s window when he comes to a stop. The party is a week from tomorrow. “Evie wants to give cookies out as favors. I finally have a chance to practice decorating with royal icing.”

Jack doesn’t understand half of that but Eric’s decorating skills are impressive and when he takes a bite — because Eric and Evie are both watching him with identical eager expressions — he agrees it’s delicious as well. “Take some home!” Eric insists, thrusting a paper bag at him. “I’ve been practicing all day, we have more than we need.”

Later that night Eric texts him a picture of the postal worker uniform his friend is making for Evie to wear at the party.

“Cute,” Jack replies.

“I know!!!” Eric replies, a string of heart-eye emojis added for emphasis.

Jack’s parents think it’s adorable when he tells them his picture is going to be on Evie Bittle's birthday cake. Of course, his father has action figures and bobble head dolls that bear his likeness and his mother’s image once graced a Calvin Klein billboard in Times Square, so very little fazes them.

Jack does use Eric’s number, once, to tell him he’s cleared things with somebody in public relations and has permission to wear his uniform and bring the truck to the party. That’s all he has to do, Eric tells him gratefully. He’ll take care of the rest.

As Evie's birthday approaches, she begins to receive colorful envelopes with postmarks from places like Georgia and Massachusetts. “Special delivery,” Jack says each time he hands Evie a stack of cards. Evie's whole face lights up when he hands her the cards with her name on them and she thanks him as if the fact he's the one handing them to her is as special as the cards themselves.

Another thing that happens, as the day of Evie’s party approaches, is that Jack looks up Eric’s YouTube channel. He clicks on the most recent video and somehow loses two hours as he tells himself, at the end of each, _just one more_. This on-screen version of Eric Bittle is confident and poised as he explains his processes and the origins of his recipes. Each video is part baking tutorial, part history lesson, with a few personal stories thrown in for good measure. Part of Jack feels a little guilty; he feels like he knows way too much about the guy now, even though he knows you can’t _really_ know somebody based on their Internet persona. Besides, he reasons, he may now know about Eric’s embarrassing college crushes, but Eric is the one who put it out there. Also, Eric is the one putting a picture of Jack’s face on his daughter’s birthday cake so it’s all kind of equal, right?

*

On the afternoon of Evie’s party, Jack dresses as he would for work and picks his truck up from the station before driving it to the Bittles’ house. His arrival is heralded with cheers from Evie Bittle and about a dozen other preschoolers, though only Evie wears a miniature replica of Jack’s uniform. Eric already looks exhausted and, leaning close to Jack as he leads him into the backyard, confesses that he’s never hosted a party like this before.

“Frat parties, sure. Bachelor parties, office birthdays. I hosted a _very classy_ cocktail party for my book release. But nothing like this.” He giggles a little hysterically. “Why did I let her invite her entire class?” he asks, throwing his hands in the air.

Jack looks around the backyard. Half the kids are already in the bounce house. Three little girls are twirling in circles on the lawn. One boy is digging in the raised planter beds. Another boy is clutching his mother’s arm, crying that he wants to go home.

“Maybe just pretend it’s a frat party,” Jack whispers back.

Eric’s peal of laughter is sharp but he mutters something about how if that’s the case he should get snacks and rushes off, leaving Jack on the back porch with his daughter.

Evie places a small hand in his and gazes at him adoringly before turning her attention to the yard. “ _Everyone_!” she shrieks. “Everyone at my party, this is Mr. Jack!”

Her declaration effectively puts a halt to all activity and eleven preschoolers turn their attention to Jack and the birthday girl.

“Euh, hi,” Jack says, waving a little awkwardly. “Who wants to see my mail truck?”

*

After Jack has given every child and their parent a ride around the block in his truck, after Eric has read a book about postal workers to the kids and they’ve played “Pin The Hat on Mailman Jack,” after everyone has spent more time in the bounce house and Evie has blown out four candles on a cake bearing Jack’s image (in full uniform, definitely one of the weirder things he’s ever encountered in the course of his career) and opened presents and handed out party favors, the party ends.

Despite Eric’s protests that Jack should go home, he stays to help with cleanup. He lingers long after Evie, still in her postal worker uniform, has fallen asleep on the living room floor.

“Looks like we wore her out,” Jack says.

Eric casts a fond smile in the direction of his sleeping daughter. “This kid will do everything in her power to resist sleep, but when she’s out she’ll sleep anywhere.”

“I remember when I could sleep anywhere,” Jack says, thinking of post-game bus rides back in his hockey days. “Now I’d risk throwing my back out if I tried to sleep on the floor like that.”

“You and me both,” Eric laughs as he crosses the room to his daughter. Jack’s eyes are drawn his backside as he squats to pick her up. He quickly averts his gaze before Eric looks back at him. “I’m gonna put her to bed.”

“Yeah, I should get going,” Jack says.

“You can stay,” Eric offers. “I mean, I’m not trying to kick you out. At the very least, you can let me pour you a glass of wine and feed you. I owe you that much for everything you’ve done today.”

“Euh, I have to get the truck back,” Jack says, willing to let that stand for his excuse to relieve Eric of the obligation to let him stay. Noticing the look of disappointment that flickers across Eric’s face he adds, “But I can come back. It won’t take long.” Something might be happening here. Something _is_ happening here, if Eric’s shy smile is an indicator.

“Sure, Jack,” Eric says, placing a hand on his shoulder. The other arm is wrapped securely around Evie, who hasn’t moved. “Take your time, I’m just gonna wash up and put something on for dinner.”

Jack returns an hour and a half later, showered and wearing one of his nicer pairs of jeans and a t-shirt that’s not _too_ faded. He doesn’t want to look like he’s trying too hard but he’s going for casual, not sloppy.

Eric, too, is freshly showered and dressed in similarly casual clothes, a pair of flat front khaki shorts and a Providence Falconers t-shirt. “Hey, I have season tickets,” Jack says, pointing at Eric’s chest.

Eric grins. “I knew I liked you.”

Dinner is leftover party food: chicken nuggets, carrot sticks, and goldfish crackers served with a bottle of pinot that Eric triumphantly pulls out of a cabinet and claims he’s been saving for a special occasion. Jack looks at their plates and snorts.

“Well,” Eric amends, “I just spentthree hours with twelve preschoolers. If that doesn’t call for wine, what does?”

The wine probably helps things along, but the conversation flows freely while they eat dinner and then leftover cake. “I know it’s weird,” Eric acknowledges as he sets a square of cake featuring the right side of Jack’s forehead in front of him. “I was going to make this whole 3-D mail truck cake but she insisted on your picture.”

“Ah, it’s okay. It’s sweet.”

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” Eric adds. “Weird as it was, it made Evie happy, and at the end of the day that’s all that matters.”

“I don’t mind,” Jack says. “I like Evie. I like you.” He sets his fork down and looks Eric in the eye, hoping Eric understands.

Five minutes later they’re on Eric’s couch, making out like teenagers.

*

It’s after midnight and Jack should have gone home long ago, but instead he’s in Eric’s bed.

“I’ve never done this before,” Jack blurts out.

“What, had sex?” Eric teases.

“On a first date. Or with a customer on my route,” Jack clarifies. “It’s not exactly professional.”

“Well, now that we’re confessing everything,” Eric says, “I should probably let you know I’ve never done this either.”

“What, had sex?” Jack parrots, earning himself a swift elbow to the ribs.

“A one night stand while my daughter sleeps in the next room. Or sex. Not since my ex, anyway.”

“Right, because Evie.” Jack nods.

“Also because there hasn’t been anybody … Well, it’s the single dad thing, you know? I’m not exactly putting out signals. Or, the right kind of signals. You probably have the opposite problem.”

“You’d be surprised, the number of housewives that try to hit on me,” Jack says with a chuckle.

“It’s the uniform,” Eric says confidently. “There’s just something about a man in uniform. I mean, uh …”

Jack barks out a laugh. “You too? Those short pants really must be something, eh?”

“Well, it’s more what’s inside the pants,” Eric banters back. “Lord, listen to me. I’m objectifying my _mailman_ ,” he wails, so distraught that it makes Jack laugh again.

Jack can’t even remember the last time somebody made him laugh this much, let alone in bed.

“Don’t laugh, Jack Zimmermann, I have a kid. She adores you. She might like you better than she likes me. And I’ve gone and made it weird by talking about your—”

“My package?” Jack asks, unable to resist the terrible pun. “Special delivery, Bittle.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Eric wails, burying his face in Jack’s shoulder. “I have to move now. I slept with the mailman and now I have to move.”

Jack presses a kiss to his temple. “Well, you don’t have to move. I could ask them to reassign me—” he feels Bittle’s entire body tense up beside him — “but I’m not going to. I’ve never done anything like this before, but that doesn’t mean I regret it.”

Eric twists out of Jack’s arms, just enough that they can look each other in the eye. “You know I have a kid,” he begins cautiously.

“Evie,” Jack replies. “I know. She’s the reason all of this finally happened.”

“ _Finally_?” Eric squeaks, voice rising on the second syllable. “Lord, Jack, you’re gonna have to stop talking like that if you ever expect me to let you go.”

“I’ve never dated anybody with a kid before,” Jack continues carefully, voice steady so there’s no mistaking his intention, “but it’s not a deal breaker for me.”

“It would be a deal breaker for me,” Eric says, serious now. “I mean, if you didn’t want to date me because of my kid. That would be the deal breaker. So tell me now, because I don’t wanna go and fall for you if you’re just going to decide we’re too much.”

Jack laughs wryly. “I helped you clean puke out of a bounce house earlier tonight and I’m still here. Look, I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I can promise you that if things don’t work out, it won’t be because of Evie.”

Eric huffs out a little sigh of relief and inches closer to Jack. They’re face to face, forehead to forehead. Jack can feel Eric’s heartbeat and the soft gust of breath each time he exhales. “And if we do this,” Eric cautions, “we need to do it right. I’m not one to kick a handsome man out of my bed, but I do have a little one who likes to run in here demanding breakfast as soon as she wakes and I don’t want her to get confused.”

“That makes sense,” Jack agrees, reluctantly sitting up and reaching for his shirt.

“But,” Eric continues, smile wide enough to split his face, “if you want to come back for breakfast, you’re more than welcome.”

*

It’s hasn’t even been eight hours when Jack pulls into the Bittles’ driveway on Sunday morning, but it feels like he never left. He didn’t get much rest at home, too excited about breakfast with the Bittles to fall into a deep sleep. Now, standing on the Bittles’ front porch holding a pink pastry box, he wonders if this is all a big mistake, if he got it all wrong and last night was just the result of too much wine and hormones. He doesn’t regret it, but maybe Eric does. Maybe he doesn’t want to explain to his four-year-old why their mailman is their breakfast guest. Jack would understand.

Jack knocks lightly, even though Eric told him they get up early. From somewhere inside he hears a little shriek and then two sets of footsteps, one running and one more measured. The door opens and Eric and Evie are standing there, smiling expectantly. Jack holds the doughnuts out, an offering. He doesn’t doubt Eric already has some sort of breakfast spread ready but he didn’t want to show up empty handed. “Euh, special delivery?”

Eric rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he and Evie step aside to let Jack in.


End file.
